


1973

by JackyJango



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cabin Fic, Cuddling & Snuggling, Did I mention fluff?, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Reading, Romance, Snow, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:14:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21780763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyJango/pseuds/JackyJango
Summary: I’ve missed you, Erik whispers into his mind.Then show me, Charles says and even his mental voice comes out as a plea mangled by desire.-----------Or the fic where Charles and Erik share a couple of nights a year together in a small cabin in the middle of nowhere.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 22
Kudos: 100
Collections: Secret Mutant Exchange 2019





	1973

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyLace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLace/gifts).



> So I took LadyLace's prompt of:  
> -Erik carrying Charles in his arms  
> -Cherik cuddling and both reading  
> and ran away with it!!
> 
> This is a canon-divergence setting where Charles and Erik don't drift apart after xmfc. They become Magneto (head of The Brotherhood) and Professor Xavier (Head Master of the school for the Gifted Youngsters) to the society, but they share a couple of nights a year together. Though that is the premise, the fic is more a piece of life of a night (which also happens to be the last day of that year) they share.
> 
> (Also, in my head, Charles has xma hair in this au. Why? I mean WHY NOT!!? HE HAS GORGEOUS HAIR IN XMA!!)
> 
> The title of the fic comes from [James Blunt's song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uWeqeQkjLto) of the same name.
> 
> This fic is not beta'd and all mistakes are my own. So please forgive them.
> 
> I hope you like this fic LadyLace!  
> Cheers! :D

There is something manic about the wind beyond the cabin walls, something feral in way the way it howls against the old window panes. As though it, too, is desperate to put behind the current year and latch onto the new.

The current year in question has been extremely eventful for Charles and the school. There had been an influx of new students enrolling into the school (humans and mutants in equal numbers), Charles had worked closely with the government to pass two pro-mutant bills, and he had completed his thesis in Economics (which in another three months’ time would fetch him his fourth doctorate). The last weeks few weeks, especially, had been hectic more than the usual. Between the festivities, grading, and the students heading home for the holidays, Charles had overworked the weekends, too. So much so that he had almost smiled when Azazel had appeared in his study that evening to whisk him away. 

The knots in Charles’ arms and back pop one by one as the scotch he’s sipping warms his stomach. A low fire burns steadily at the base of the stone wall, its ignited embers cackling against the crisp winter air. The air trapped between the wooden walls has warmed considerably since Azazel dropped him early on that evening, but the lingering chill sends goosebumps up Charles’ arms and neck: crisp, sharp and biting.

Charles sips languidly from the crystal glass and relishes the burn that the dark liquid leaves down his throat. There’s no clock at handy to tell the exact time or any means of determining it, but it’s certainly late into the night. Certainly way past the time Erik generally shows up to their rendezvous, clad either in his hideous combat suit or in a fitting turtleneck and leather jacket.

With Erik busy uprooting three local governments in several states and Charles busy with running the school, they hadn’t met in over seven months. Nothing has changed about the cabin in the time they’d last been here, Charles observes, except for the huge faux-fur rug spread out in front of the fire that covers the larger part of the bedroom. He wonders which of Erik’s minion’s idea was it to put it there. It’s not bold enough to match Azazel’s vulgar sense of humour (like the time they’d found a blind fold and handcuffs under the pillow), or Angel’s aesthetic taste (like the time she had covered their bed with maroon, satin sheets), but it’s subtle enough to be Janos’. The man many not speak much, but his mind is sharper than the rest. 

Like a lighthouse in a storm, Charles catches Erik’s mind outside the cabin, cutting his musings short. As much as he wants to curl up against that beloved mind, Charles waits it out. Waits until he hears the creak of a door and the heavy thuds of boots against the rustic wood that brings Erik in front of him. There had been reports of illegal experiments on mutants in the northern pockets of the country a few days ago, so it doesn’t come as a surprise to see Erik in his combat suit, the maroon monstrosity hugging and enhancing his incredible physique, and mind roiling with flashes of flight. If Erik’s helmet is not in view, then he must have gotten rid of it before reaching here. 

_ Good boy _ , Charles projects into Erik’s mind, and the Metal bender smirks. 

Any other time, they would have enjoyed a relaxing bath together, had dinner in front of the fire and made love till day break. But now, Charles isn’t hungry despite not having his supper. Not in the conventional way, at least. Instead, a different kind of hunger runs through his veins, the kind that heats his skin and sets him ablaze: Crisp, sharp and  _ raw _ .

His pliant mind must have projected that thought, because a moment later, Erik surges forward, crouches in front of him and attacks his mouth. Charles lets Erik push his tongue into his mouth and explore it, lets him suck on his lower lip, lets Erik command the kiss and senses the way it pleases him. Charles, in turn, holds on to Erik like man drowning in a storm, cradling Erik’s face in his hands and nearly falling off his chair trying. 

There are snowflakes trapped in Erik’s hair, his lips are cold the tip of his nose is freezing. But that’s something Charles can redress. As Erik devours his mouth expertly, Charles rubs his palms over Erik’s face and shoulders in a bid to impart his body heat, however little it may be.

But instead of smooth skin, Charles’ fingers meet raised flesh and the slick of blood. When Charles breaks the kiss and pulls back, his left hand is stained black with it.

‘Erik!’ Charles gasps. ‘You’re hurt. How did it happen?’

As if realising its existence just then, Erik touches the broken skin just above the collar of his combat suit and frowns. Erik’s mind runs over the events of the day-- buildings collapsing, gunfire. But the bullets aren’t metal. It’s something different. Plastic. Claire opening a portal and leaving him near the cabin. Finally, Erik says, ‘I can’t remember. But it’s certainly fresh.’

Charles could say many things to that. He  _ has  _ many things to say to that.  _ You idiot, you have to be more careful. You might be able to control metal, Erik, but you cannot control everything else. Do you know how much it frightens me whenever you go out on a mission? It could have killed you! _

‘Could you please fetch me the first-aid kit under the sink?’ Charles says instead. ‘And please get rid of your armour while you’re at it.’

Erik stands up and begins to divest his armour. Another day, Charles would have enjoyed the show, but now, he watches mutely as the last of Erik’s armour falls to the floor next to him, until Erik’s dressed only in his trousers. The first-aid kit comes flying from the direction of the bathroom when Erik holds out his hand. Of course, it’s metal. How convenient.

Erik’s display of powers and his answering smirk would have been a turn on if there wasn’t the threat of a jugular rupture.

‘Come here,’ Charles says softly, and like a lion readily coming when its tamer beckons, Erik does. The Metal bender crouches between Charles’ knees and angles his head to the side, giving Charles access to the cut.

Perhaps it’s some form of a dark comedy that no one would believe him if he ever told them that the great Magneto, the Master of Magnetism, the leader of The Brotherhood, the nightmare of governments and a declared terrorist is kneeling before him and baring his neck, sans armour and sans helmet. But no one needs to know that. Here, in between these walls, the man in front of Charles is none of those things. He’s just Erik, a man who trusts his best-friend with his life.

On a closer look, it’s not a serious cut as Charles had feared earlier. It’s a flesh wound that just needs a couple of stitches. In fact, Charles has seen worse on Erik and patched several of his uglier wounds, that by now, he can almost deem himself to be an expert at it. That doesn’t mean he has to like it. Charles cleans the blood from the cut with a cotton and spirit. He then loops a thread through a needle and sets it to Erik’s skin. 

_ I’ve got you _ ,  _ darling _ , he murmurs into Erik’s mind and numbs him to the pain. 

Ever since they began sharing this cabin a couple of nights a year, almost a decade ago, Charles and Erik had mutually agreed that they wouldn’t bring their personas here. That they would leave everything that kept them apart in the outside world for a few nights a year: humans, mutants, politics, school, The Brotherhood and their ideologies. It’s not that they haven’t been successful at it, but no matter how hard they try, once in a while, that world trickles into their little sanctum. It breaks the skin, cuts through the flesh and bleeds red.

But that doesn’t mean Charles won’t try to keep it out. No matter how many times Erik gets hurt, he’ll patch up every one of Erik’s wounds. 

Charles examines the neat row of stitches criss-crossing the skin of Erik’s neck once more and draws a fingertip across it. They’ll hold the skin together-- unless, of course, Erik does something to irritate it.

‘There,’ Charles says and puts back the contents of the kit and closes it. ‘Don’t do anything to disrupt it.’

Instead of answering, Erik leans forward and brushes the tip of his nose against Charles’ while his hands steadily rub up and down the blanket draped over Charles’ thighs.

_ I’m sorry I worried you _ , it says and Charles smiles fondly.

Erik’s smells of sweat, earth and the fresh, winter breeze. But beneath all that is the inherent scent of Erik’s musk: rich, decadent and male. And one whiff of it banks the ashes of Charles’ arousal into a small fire that cackles against both their consciences.

They don’t have to move much to start kissing and it doesn’t take long for Erik to drag his mouth down Charles’ jaw and down his neck. Charles cranes his head to expose his neck and clutches on to Erik’s shoulders as the Metal bender alternates between swirling his tongue maddeningly and nipping at his skin, like a hot brand that’ll leave a mark to match Erik’s wound. 

Together in Love and War.

_ I’ve missed you _ , Erik whispers into his mind.

_ Then show me _ , Charles says and even his mental voice comes out as a plea mangled by desire.

Between bouts of kissing and maneuvering, Erik manages to undress Charles out of his woolen pajamas and socks. With one hand below his knees and the other below his back, Erik lifts Charles effortlessly from his chair and into his arms. Charles links his fingers around Erik’s neck and snuggles against him for heat. Instead of walking the short distance to the narrow bed like he normally does, Erik turns to the fur carpet and slowly lays Charles on top of it. 

The carpet is plush against Charles’ back and surprisingly comfortable. A low moan ruptures from his throat as the soft fur tingles the heightened senses on the skin of his back, and Erik grins knowingly. The Metal bender drapes himself over the Telepath and rubs Charles’ sides, a blanket of heat shielding him from the winter air, warming him inside and out. 

‘I've got you,  _ schatz _ ,’ he murmurs against Charles’ lips and kisses him.

There is a certain joy in submission and Erik knows how to pleasure him best. And so they make love like that, with Erik’s mouth latching on to Charles’ nipple and Charles’ hands cradling Erik’s head. Erik takes them both into his hand and strokes them into completion. Charles sometimes comes and other times doesn’t. But that doesn’t matter when he can latch onto and ride the bright flare of Erik’s pleasure as they both fall over the edge, Erik’s come painting his abdomen in strips of white heat. 

The perks of being a telepath.

A strong wave of affection ebbs and flows between their joint consciousness in the afterglow-- like the fire beside them-- painting the world in a golden haze. Charles groans when Erik gets up, removing the wall of heat and exposing him to the chill. ‘Don’t go,’ he whines petulantly-- unconcerned and unembarrassed for sounding like one of his students-- catching hold of Erik’s wrist.

‘I was just going to get a washcloth to clean you up, but I don’t mind if you want to stew in my mess the whole night.’

‘There are other ways of cleaning up,’ Charles purrs as he draws a fingertip against the sticky mess and licks it sultrily, all the while looking at Erik through his lashes. 

Erik groans so loudly that even the iron grate against the fireplace agrees ominously with the Metal bender. ‘You’ll be the death of me,’ he says aloud, and mentally:  _ Don’t start something you can’t finish _ .

Unfortunately, Erik is right. No matter how much he’d like to continue, they’re both tired and sleepy. The afterglow dawns on his senses like a heavy fog and Charles watches with lids drawn half-mast as Erik cleans him up with a warm washcloth and brings the army of down feather-pillows and a heavy blanket onto the narrow fur carpet. Charles lets go of his pillow to rest his head on Erik’s shoulder and drapes an arm over Erik’s chest. He noses at the juncture of Erik’s neck and presses a soft kiss against the neat line of stitches, as if his lips alone could heal it.

Erik chuckles, and as if possible, pulls Charles closer. ‘How have you been?’ he asks against Charles’ temple. ‘I’ve started on gardening,’ Charles murmurs, drawing inane patterns on Erik’s chest. ‘The first batch of cacti I planted are already flowering.’

‘Cacti?’ Charles feels Erik’s confusion in his mind. ‘Why cacti?’

‘Because they remind me of you.’

‘Me?’ Erik frowns.

‘Hmm. Yes. They’re just like you. Prickly on the outside and soft on the inside.’ Charles says and chuckles at Erik’s answering groan. 

‘You’re a total sap after sex,’ Erik points out grumpily, but the tender kiss he places on Charles’ hairline tells a different story. 

Charles hums happily. ‘Yes. Now, will you read to me?’

‘And bossy, too.’ Erik sighs dramatically. ‘What did you get us this time?’

A few years ago, bored with all the books in his collection, Charles had carried one of Jubilee’s fashion magazines with him to one of their rendezvous, and as amusing as it had been listening to Erik read about the spring collections and the hot fashion trends that year, Charles had repeated it again and again and again. Until it had almost turned into a tradition between them. This time though, he had turned it up a notch and snatched a bedtime story Ororo read to an eight-year-old Kitty. 

‘It’s in the back-pocket of my chair,’ Charles answers gleefully and send the impression of a hard-cover pink book with brass tips. 

When Erik holds out his hand, the book comes flying to the Metal bender. Looking at the cover, Erik raises an unimpressed bow. ‘Really? Fairy tales?’

‘Oh, just read it, will you?’ Charles says and snuggles further for Erik’s warmth.

A calm settles against their minds as Erik’s rich voice rumbles around the small space. ‘Once upon a time, there lived a beast in a scary castle…’

Charles smiles fondly and presses his ear against Erik’s heart. Here, he’s not Charles Francis Xavier, the all-knowing ‘Professor X’ his students look up to and aspire to be, he’s not the headmaster of ‘Xavier's School For The Gifted Youngsters’ who’s sympathised in his colleague’s minds for lacking a love life, he’s not the politician who bears the burden of integration of mutant-human agendas on his shoulder. Here, in a small wooden cabin in the middle of nowhere, he’s just Charles in his lover’s arms. And there’s something freeing about that, something novel. Something liberating:  _ Cathartic _ .

Outside the wooden walls of the cabin, the wind mellows, as it whistles a soothing melody into the winter air, as though, it too, is welcoming a new year into its arms.

-

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and please let me know your thoughts! :D  
> Also, [JackyJango](https://jackyjango.tumblr.com) on Tumblr!
> 
> Wishing you Happy Holidays and a prosperous 2020! :D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [1973 [Art]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25021930) by [IreneADonovan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneADonovan/pseuds/IreneADonovan)




End file.
